Stinking Dead Things and Lessons on Time

You can smell them from the Safeway parking lot. You can smell them from the intersection of Broadway and Holladay. You can smell them in my living room with the back door open. The Velellas are back by the millions and they are dying.  This happened in July last year.  I posted about them here. Somewhere I have a journal I purchased at the time to start recording the cycles of the ocean and what I find washed up on the beach.  I have yet to write in it. I better get after it.

It's been a little over two months since I moved permanently to Seaside. It's been a whirlwind of a couple months, settling into my 'sugar cube' house; starting a new job in a new coffee shop; volunteering weekly at the Wildlife Center; writing with a fun, creative group at Beach Books.

Last weekend my best friend of (cough)thirty-nine(cough) years flew in from Reno to celebrate my becoming a published poet. The poem I shared here has been published in the North Coast Squid. Yet another milestone, of many, Glenda and I have shared together.

After Glenda's visit I made a quick dash to Hood River to celebrate Taylor's eighteenth birthday.

I drove back to Seaside on Monday and got back in time to catch the tail end of a decent low tide and half a limit of razor clams. As I was heading back to the house I heard a voice say, "Hey, baseball bat!" I looked up to see Walt, my clamming guru from last spring.  You may remember him and Gizmo from this post.  We made a date for clamming on Wednesday.  It was great to reconnect!

The next morning I was driving to Olney, where the Wildlife Center is located, for my weekly volunteer shift.  The drive was soothing and beautiful and for the first time since my move I felt settled.  My Tuesday routine has become . . . routine.

 My life is busy and full and I am very grateful.

Here are some pictures I took today. In spite of the fact that the Velellas stink to high heavens, it's a remarkable phenomenom.  They are a reminder that life moves in cycles here in this part of the world.  I need to pay attention becuase in a few days there may be very little left of the Velellas and we'll be on to the next thing.

 I am thinking about how time flies . . .

Thirty-nine years of friendsip, 

eighteen years since the birth of my last child, 

one year since I learned to clam and saw my first Velellas.  

Before I know it the Velellas will be here again. 

What will I have done  with my one wild and precious life in the meantime?

*Thanks to Walt Pisarczyk for the clamming photos!
* "my one wild and precious life" excerpted from Mary Oliver's 'The Summer Day'.